Anything in Return

Cool metal on warm skin. The rushing of blood. A single pair of eyes, piercing right through her. A familiar hoof caressing the curvature of her body, navigating it like the explorers of old.

Fiddlesticks was burning shame and fiery arousal and the freeing realization that for the rest of the night, she would be free from the burden of day-to-day life. No need to decide how to use her body or what to say; only listen and do as she was told.

The jangle of a ring of keys pulled her out of her reverie and back to reality. Reality was a spacious bathroom in one of the guest houses that the Apple family had built for their reunions. When not in use it was used to house travelers or parties, a common occurrence in the surprisingly populous town of Ponyville.

Reality was her sister Apple Fritter in front of her, holding two silver keys in front of her. Keys that would find themselves hooked onto a necklace that Fiddlesticks was wearing, a small reminder of the control she had surrendered by agreeing to this. Reality was the feeling of her marehood restrained by cool stainless steel, locked by the keys that now hung around her throat.

Reality was being told to walk through an open door into a room full of hungry eyes. Reality was being devoured from a distance, appraised like produce at the market. She held her head up high despite the flush of red and hot embarrassment that painted her cheeks and ears. There were appreciative coos and a few whistles; exactly the sort of jeering you’d expect from a room full of mares who knew what they wanted.

Mares who knew who they wanted.

“Does she do any tricks?” Lavender Fritter’s voice was unmistakable, sharp and clear like the sound of a guitar in an empty room. Her voice had an edge of Canterlot sophistication; apparently being married into the Apple family couldn’t dull such things.

Apple Fritter smiled, turning her head to lock eyes with Fiddle. Her eyes were full of a playful energy that perfectly complimented her mischievous smile. “I dunno Fiddly, do you know any tricks?” A pause punctuated her question.

Fiddlesticks nodded, her quiet affirmation barely audible.

“She’s real obedient, folks; watch this. Fiddly, turn around and present.” Any warmth in Fritter’s voice was gone in the last half of that sentence, replaced with a cold air of authority that made Fiddle’s heart race.

She did as she was told, turning around and folding her forelegs up underneath her. She docked her tail to one side, displaying her entire backside to the room. The ceiling fan that whirled above them blew a breeze over her exposed flesh, sending shivers racing down her spine.

The catcalling returned with a vengeance as the assembled mares drank in the sights. Apple Fritter’s voice cut through the clamor with the ease of a practiced showmare. She cleared her throat at the same time that a firm hoof clapped down upon Fiddlesticks' ass, drawing out a surprised yelp.

“Ladies, please; you’re more than free to touch the merchandise.”

Fiddlesticks couldn’t see anything besides wooden flooring, leaving the rest of her body to work overtime. She heard the shuffle of hooves, felt gentle touches caress and prod at nearly every part of her. They started out reserved; scratching behind her ear or tracing the line where her barrel met her haunches.

Reservation soon gave way to a sort of quietly frenzied excitement, a nearly palpable lust. She felt hungry teeth nip and nibble at her neck or the very tips of her ears. She felt hooves knead into her backside, appraising the quality of her rear. She personally thought it was fantastic; her and Lightning Dust went jogging pretty regularly to keep both of them in shape.

Somepony had procured a riding crop from somewhere, gently tapping it against her inner thigh. Fiddlesticks got the memo — this certainly wasn’t her first rodeo. She parted her legs further, shaking her ass enticingly. The invisible set of hooves chose instead to cup her balls, remarking on the quality of the chastity cage that her eager marehood now struggled against.

The attention she was being lavished with continued unabated, a slowly-building wave of passion that threatened to drown Fiddlesticks entirely. To think that this was just an appetizer, nothing more than a suggestion of things to come; that the Apple family mares could have any desire left in them after this would’ve shocked a lesser pony. But Fiddlesticks was no lesser pony.

“Wow, Fiddle, you’re really enjoying this.” A dangerously seductive voice spoke up right by her ear, a faint whisper intended only for her. “No wonder you always put so much money into the pool every year.”

“I know what I’m a—” All coherence was driven from Fiddlesticks' mind as she felt a warm mouth close in around one of her balls, suckling it gently. “a-about. I know what I want.”

The voice, identified from her peripheral vision by her pale green coat, was Candy Apple’s. Candy nipped at Fiddle’s ear before continuing. “Yeah? You like getting worked over by your cousins for an entire night so much that you’re willing to cough up two thousand bits for it?”

“It’s for a good cause!” Fiddle whined in protest, trying and failing to convince Candy that this was anything but self-indulgent.

The fact of the matter is that she and Lightning had a wonderful sex life. It was safe and warm at times and white-hot at others; unpredictable like the lightning from which her beloved earned her name. They knew each other's buttons in and out, indulging every fantasy the two of them shared. Despite all of that, Fiddle couldn’t help but want more. She was a glutton for punishment in the most literal sense. Sometimes a filly wanted the intimate sight of her wife holding a crop; sometimes she wanted to be in a tangle of bodies intent on pushing her to her limits.

That’s what these Apple family afterparties were perfect for — they delivered the sort of thrills that Fiddlesticks craved with the safety and surety of being amongst friends. Friends and family, she supposed; none of them by blood but rather choice. Not that it made the idea of eating her sister's pussy any less devilishly delightful.

She supposed she provided an outlet for some of these mares as well. It was a win-win for everypony involved. She had grown to truly care for and respect many Apple family cousins she otherwise would’ve glossed over had it not been for the intimacy shared year after year in these walls. It was more than just sex; it was everything afterwards too. Tender aftercare, the sublime bliss of mares sharing in the bounties of each other's bodies free from judgment or care; even if only for a night.

Fiddlesticks slowly surfaced from above the waterline of her thoughts, becoming steadily more and more aware of her surroundings. What she was most aware of was the lack of sensation, the absence of hooves and mouths and heat. She waited for a command, for a word, for anything to shake her from her reverie completely.

Apple Fritter provided graciously, a kind voice that cut through the haze of lust that clouded Fiddle’s mind. “You can stand up and turn around now, Fiddly.”

Fiddle did as instructed, pushing herself up onto unsteady legs. Fritter was there to help her up, a sturdy foreleg against her barrel giving her some much-needed support. Fiddle let out a shaky breath, an exhalation of all the stress of the day that still lingered. “Hey girls.” She smiled sheepishly.

A chorus of voices greeted her in response. This year’s group was a little lighter than it typically was, numbering only five mares. That made sense. There had been a few marriages and fewer divorces. To tell the truth, Fiddle didn’t mind the smaller years — she liked the one-on-one or one-on-two stuff more than anything else. It was a lot easier to please two mares than four, that much was for certain.

“So! Who’re ya startin’ out with first?” Apple Cider chirped, waving an overturned hat at Fiddlesticks.

She peered inside the hat, seeing an assortment of folded slips of paper. Simple enough. “I think I’ll just start with one of y’all for now; gotta get warmed up before we jump into anythin’.”

The rest of the room nodded in agreement.

Fiddlesticks reached a hoof in and pulled out a name. She cleared her throat, a smile already evident on her face. “Guess Candy gets me first.”

Candy whooped and hollered all the way to the bedroom next door.